Laurie Boris

The Council: The Recriminations Edition

The longer the meeting had gone on, the more he wanted off the phone, the more he shook his head and groaned and wished he’d never made the call; now fingers had been pointed, new candidates appointed, recriminations were incriminated without discrimination or examination…

“Barry!”

His eyes snapped open. “Wha…”

“You were sleep-rapping again.”

“Damn. Really?” He had to stop listening to Kendrick Lamar before bed. He grinned at the cute irritation on her face. “Was I any good?”

“Actually, yes. Which is even more annoying. Will you call the damn meeting already so I can get some sleep?”

He agreed, but the idea of getting into it with everyone scared the pants off him. He’d had his separate calls. With MVP of course. Some of the others. But official business had to happen. It would be ugly, but hard decisions had to be made with all members in attendance. So he lay there for a while, postponing the inevitable, and when he heard his lovely wife’s breathing settle into sleep, he got up and made the arrangements.

Only moments after that, his private line rang. It was Dubya. The forty-third president rarely initiated calls with him, so he pressed accept.

“George. What are you doing up?”

There was a long pause, during which Forty-four swore he could hear the breeze across the Texas plain. And then a soft snuffling. “Are you crying? Do you need a minute?”

“No. I’m fine. I just. Well, I’m not so fine. I feel like I let you all down.”

“You vowed to stay out of the endorsing business, that was okay. You do you. But calling to congratulate him was a little over the line.”

“Yeah. I know. But, see…” He let out a deep sigh. “There’s a reason for that. I made a bargain with…my higher power…to do penance to relieve me of the burden of my sins.”

Forty-four scratched the back of his neck. “And congratulating him was part of it?”

“Among…other things. I’m not supposed to be talking about it, but—see, there’s a project I’ll be working on, and I might need some help.” Forty-four was about to ask if he wanted it to be an agenda item for the meeting when Forty-three said, “I’m probably gonna need a good lawyer.”

“Of course. Happy to help.” The snuffling started again. “Maybe make a nice cup of tea and try to get some rest, okay?”

The call ended. Forty-three smelled the brimstone, creeping in with the night breeze on the patio. “Oh, don’t even with me,” he told Lucifer. “Like I’m not doing enough for you already.”

“That’s fine.” Lucifer perched on an empty chair. “Talk to whomever you wish. As long as you keep your part of the bargain.”

“I’m doing it, all right? I already got plans for my little sanctuary city on the back forty, but this new assignment isn’t sitting well with me.”

“Do you want your beloved state of Texas to become Ground Zero for mass deportations?”

“Of course not. I just don’t think your plan for me to burn down the camp he wants ICE to build is the way to do it. It’s too obvious. Could you maybe send down a convenient bolt of lightning?”

“I’m the devil, not a meteorologist. What else would you suggest?”

“Well, that was kind of my backup plan. The make-it-look-like-an-act-of-nature sort of thing.”

Lucifer stroked his beard. “I hear tell you have friends with a time machine.”

Forty-three’s jaw dropped. Nobody was supposed to know about Dr. Franklin’s visit to Washington. “Did Bill Clinton tell you that? He is such a blabbermouth.”

“But so entertaining. He’s one of my favorites. So here’s what you do. Have them take you back to a certain inflection point and convince certain people to make a different choice that results in a different outcome.”

“That’s not awfully specific.”

“Also not my job. But I see you’re foundering so I’ll throw you a bone. There was one man in your Senate who could have insured that a certain party would never be allowed to run for a second term.”

“McConnell. The second impeachment,” Forty-three said. “I just gotta convince him and few of his friends to change their vote.”

Lucifer smirked. “So it is true that you’re smarter than you look.”

Before Forty-three could respond, the cloven-hoofed little man was gone, leaving that godawful stench in his wake. He sat for a while, ruminating. Acting on this idea would mean going against his vow not to get involved in the affairs of other presidents. But it could prevent a lot of dark things from happening. He could be a hero. People would stop calling him a war criminal. Maybe they’d even buy more of his paintings.

A coyote howled in the distance. It sounded crazy. Find Ben Franklin to take him back in time so he could change the course of history. But it was worth a shot.